“Cracow is six hours away, if you’re lucky. There’s no one who could take care of the animals overnight.”
Radek groaned, for a moment looking much younger than his twenty years. Emil would miss him—the way his freckled nose wrinkled when he smiled, and the fiery red hair scattered over Emil’s old monogrammed pillows. “Oh, come ooon! Can’t you get a pet-sitter for a week, or something? I bet someone out there is dying to spend a few days in a thatch-covered house in Bieszczady, petting a beautiful horse. I could take some photos of the place next time I’m here.”
Emil took a long inhale of smoke, struggling not to raise his voice at Radek in those few precious minutes together. Everything seemed so easy for him. Maybe that was what happened when your family had money to spare for ‘pet-sitters’. Emil, on the other hand, was a flytrap for bad luck. If he asked someone to take care of his home, he’d surely come back to find his most precious things gone.
“Nah, the house is old and it’s got all these quirks, you know. It’s hard to handle for someone who doesn’t know it.”
“Airbnb it?”
Emil groaned. “What did I just say?”
Radek’s shoulders slumped. “Right. No Internet. This really sucks,” he said, and his hand discreetly rubbed its way down Emil’s spine. No one could see it, even through the large windows of the store. “But it would be great if you came over. There’s no other gay guy around here, right? I feel bad leaving you behind,” he said, exhaling as he looked across the empty road, at the store owner, Mrs. Golonko, who stepped out, still talking to someone inside.
Emil shrugged and put on a smile for Radek’s benefit. “I’m fine. You know I’ve got an eye for spotting thirsty tourists.”
Radek laughed and shoved at Emil’s arm. “You’re so nasty.”
“And you love it,” Emil whispered with a grin but lowered his voice when Mrs. Golonko adjusted her velvety jacket and stepped across a hole in the asphalt, approaching the bus stop in heels so high they might bend her ankle backwards if she made a wrong move. It seemed play time with Radek was over.
“Good morning. You going somewhere, Emil?” she asked, attempting a frown, but her smooth forehead only twitched.
“Why? You keeping tabs on me, Mrs. Golonko? I’m flattered, but what about your husband?”
“I was just surprised you have enough money for a ticket. Or gas.”
Ah, the joys of being unworthy of the unofficial queen of the village.
Radek cleared his throat. “Why would you be interested in the contents of Emil’s bank account?”
She snorted and pushed her permed hair back. “He doesn’t have one. I know. I employ him sometimes. Isn’t that right?” she asked, stabbing her gaze into Emil’s chest.
Emil put out his cigarette against the wall of the bus stop. “That is correct, Mrs. Golonko. I’d be nothing without you.” He knew Radek would enjoy the sarcasm, but the fact that she wasn’t lying made his insides twist in shame. Emil had no prospects for full-time employment and lived day-to-day, so doing odd jobs for the Golonkos often kept him afloat. If he antagonized her too much, he’d be left with one option—to seek employment at the fox fur farm belonging to Radek’s dad and her—something he’d promised himself he’d never stoop to.
Mrs. Golonko raised her chin, as if she wasn’t sure how to take his answer, but Jessika, Mrs. Golonko’s daughter chose that moment to call her mother back into the store. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” she grumbled before hopping back across the road in the fancy red-soled shoes she clearly wasn’t comfortable in.
Emil smiled at Radek, eager to savor the short time they had left, but his ears were already picking up the tired groans of the old bus.
“I’m really glad you could give me a lift. Next time, I’ll take you for a ride in that new car Dad promised to get me,” Radek said, oblivious to the nail he was hammering into Emil’s pride.
“You’ll miss the chance to inconspicuously grind against my ass in public once Daddy gets you a Porsche” Emil said nevertheless, determined to keep his chin high.
Radek laughed, and his fingers briefly slipped under the back of Adam’s T-shirt, caressing his skin. “I’m sure I’ll generally miss your ass, Mr. Mentor,” he said, and for a shocking moment that had the hairs on Emil’s back rising, it seemed like Radek might break the unspoken code of secrecy and lean in for a kiss. But he wouldn’t. Not in Dybukowo. Not in front of Mrs. Golonko’s store. Even if Radek were willing to come out, Emil’s unlucky run-in with a bunch of skinheads years ago had taught him a lesson painful enough he would never forget it.
He pulled away. “Take care of yourself.”
But as the bus emerged from behind a hill, Radek pushed a rolled-up bank note into Emil’s hand. “For the gas.”
The need to reject the cash was like the worst heartburn, but Emil was in too much of a bind to be prideful. “Thanks. But I’ll get you some boar sausage next time you come over, deal?”
“Always up for your sausage.” Radek grinned but had already picked up his large backpack and stepped toward the bus, which came to a halt, trembling from the efforts of its journey so far. The sun shone through Radek’s red locks, turning them into a halo that beckoned Emil in a helpless need to keep one of his few friends close. But he wouldn’t be an obstruction in Radek’s life and waved at him with a sparse smile.
He watched his friend take a seat by the window, and they looked at one another until the bus disappeared between the trees.
Emil’s heart thrashed in protest, tempting him to get on the bike and follow the bus all the way to Cracow, but he knew that as long as Jinx was alive, his place was here. And he couldn’t leave Jinx. No matter how much he loved the beast, his horse was one of the things that kept him in Dybukowo. At twenty-one, he was still fit as a buck, and sometimes Emil wondered how his life could change if one day Jinx peacefully passed away. He doubted he’d be able to sell his grandparents’ house even if he wanted to, but maybe he could rent it out for parts of the year and travel, no longer a prisoner to circumstance and obligation.
But he’d have to save up for that anyway, and his pockets were like sieves.
When Mrs. Golonko called out from her store, he pretended not to hear her and darted back toward his home, making the motorcycle roar as it left behind a cloud of dust and fumes. This day had already started on a bad note, and he could always listen to her insults some other time.
He drove past the tiny wooden building that used to house an elementary school before the advent of school busses, the notice board, homes of neighbors who knew all about his failures yet rarely did anything to help him out, and sped out of the main body of the village, so that nobody could see the twist on his face.
He could only breathe normally again once he dashed between two fields, nearing the crossroads between the church and his own home.
Maybe the stallion could find another owner, but he wasn’t the picture-pretty horse most people wanted for entertainment or sports, and the thought of Jinx ending up at a slaughterhouse somewhere in Italy or France made everything inside him ache. And who was he even kidding? He might be telling himself it was just a horse, but he’d promised Granddad he’d never get rid of it, that he’d always keep Jinx close, and he couldn’t break that promise, no matter how badly he yearned to leave Dybukowo behind.